When I was in first grade, I think I was 5. I had a painting in the Minneapolis Museum of Art. It was part of a project in all the schools of the Twin Cities to hang young artists works. Thousands of works of art from all the schools were submitted, and from all age groups. Mine was chosen to represent the First Graders.
There is a picture of me, somewhere, pointing to my painting on the wall of the museum. Big proud smile on my face.
Well, then my family life changed dramatically, divorce, scandal, shame, and my art lessons were dropped.
I could go on and on about the raw deal I got, but what I see now is that the society that was so harsh in it's judgement of me and my family could have driven me to deeper in art. As it did with many writers, poets, musicians and artists.
More importantly, I listened to the outer critics of my family and of myself. Those outer critics began to become my inner critic. I have found the inner critic is hardest to ignore, let go, and free oneself from.
It's not what others think about me that matters, it's what I think of me.
That might just be a life long goal, to accept me, and stand for me, in the face of all contrary evidence.
No comments:
Post a Comment